


One Last Time

by SwiftEmera



Series: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge (Vigilante Edition) [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Nipple Play, Smut, Temporary Character Death (Details inside)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong with Oliver, and after weeks of no contact, he shows up at Barry's door unannounced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place before the mid-season finale of Arrow Season 3 - warnings for temporary character death. 
> 
>  
> 
> **(Day 5 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge - Nipple Play)**

Oliver is avoiding him, but Barry doesn't care.

That's what he tells himself when he doesn't hear from Oliver in over three weeks.

That's what he tells himself as he glances at his phone to see that several of his text messages have gone unanswered.

That's what he tells himself as he calls Oliver's cell phone, only to be cut off after two rings.

That's what he tells himself as he slinks around the lab, ignoring Caitlin and Cisco's worried glances and the dark cloud above his head that's threatening to strike him down.

But when his doorbell rings at 3am in the morning, and his door opens with a  loud  _creak_  to reveal Oliver standing on the other side, looking distressed as fuck, all forms of the lie immediately fly from Barry's mind to reveal one cold, harsh truth; Barry cares too much.

He doesn't ask what's bothering him – he knows that Oliver wouldn't open up to him anyway – what's the point? Not that he'd get the chance, anyway, because the moment he opens his mouth – either to scold him for showing up at his door so damn late, or to ask where the hell he's been, he's not entirely sure - Oliver's lips are attacking his own desperately, trembling hands skimming over his cheeks.

Any protest that he might have had melts away instantly, and he allows himself to be dragged flush against the older's body, savouring the feeling of the other's hard chest below his palms.

“Barry,” Oliver murmurs against his lips with something that sounds akin to reverence, “Need you. I need you.”

 _Shit_.

Something's not right. Something's not right  _at all_. Oliver's hands won't stop shaking as he allows Barry to lace his fingers into Oliver's, tugging him gently towards the bedroom. His expression is more closed-off than usual – which, for Oliver, that's certainly saying something.

As soon as they slide onto the mattress, Oliver's tugging on his shirt, eyes pleading, and, well – Barry really can't bring himself to deny him, no matter how pissed he is.

He should. He really  _should_. He knows that this thing with Oliver has gone too far – that he should be running far away in the opposite direction in an attempt to mend his already broken heart – but he can't help it. Oliver draws him in like a moth to the flame, and he's already burning up.

Before he knows it, they've torn off each other's clothes, now scattered haphazardly over the bedroom floor, and Barry lets out a stuttered gasp as Oliver grinds into him, nails digging into the older man's back ever so slightly. He's not sure entirely where Oliver's going with this, in all honesty – all he knows is that the other looks more broken than usual, even as he's panting above him, reveling in the friction of their erections grinding together.

He wants to ask – he really, really does. As much as he wants to deny it, he loves Oliver with all of his heart - and he's not entirely sure when  _that_  happened. It was somewhere between pining for Iris and drunken one night stands with the older man, but  _fuck_ , he's all Oliver's now.

If only Oliver wanted him.

The pads of Oliver's thumbs brush over Barry's nipples, and a breathy gasp falls from his lips.

“Shit,” Oliver breathes against the flesh of his neck, “You're sensitive.”

“Only when I'm--” Barry cuts himself off with a moan as Oliver sucks down on skin, circling his nipples slowly. “T-turned on,” he manages through his tightened throat.

This is where Oliver would usually make some sort of smug joke, or at least offer him one of the light-hearted smiles that he only seems to allow to shine through in these particular moments, but his face is still hardened, and his forehead still creased with worry for whatever is coming. And god, he can't ignore it any longer – he just can't. Something is wrong, and he needs to find out what.

“Oliver,” Barry whispers, and the other man pulls off his neck to look him in the eye. “What's going on?”

Oliver hesitates for a few seconds, and Barry can tell that he's pondering what to say. In the end, he goes with nothing, instead choosing to scoot down to draw a circle around Barry's nipple with his tongue, and Barry's protests get lost in his throat as he feels Oliver take the small nub between his teeth, running over it carefully, before the older man looks up at him, eyes questioning, and Barry's breath catches in his throat, because somehow, he already knows what the question is, and he nods his acquiescence.

It doesn't take Oliver long to fetch the lube from its usual place in the night stand, and before he knows it, Barry is pressed into the mattress face-first, Oliver pulling his hips up, circling his hole with one finger, before pressing it in, and the sheets wrinkle under Barry's grasp. As he's opened up with care, Barry presses his face into the mattress to muffle his moans, but it doesn't stop the desperate sob that escapes him whenever Oliver brushes over his prostate.

“I'm ready,” Barry whimpers against the sheets, and Oliver doesn't reply like he usually does – he just withdraws his fingers, wiping them on the covers. He waits as Oliver prepares himself – tearing the foil wrapper of the condom with his teeth before rolling it over himself and slicking it up with lube.

Oliver's hot, warm breath tickles the back of his neck when he lines himself up, proceeding to to sink in slowly, and Barry hisses at the stretch, because it's been a while, but it's not necessarily  _bad_. Still, once Oliver is fully sheathed, he grips onto Barry's hips, and waits for Barry's signal.

“M-move,” Barry whimpers, and Oliver obliges almost immediately, hips snapping forward, and Barry bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back his moans.

It's somehow less personal and more rushed than he's used to. It's like going back to when they first started – when there were no feelings involved on either side. He wishes he could see Oliver's face, and he wonders if the older man had deliberately chosen this position so that he couldn't.

Oliver fucks into him with breathy pants and broken moans, and as Barry feels the pressure building before long, he moves his hand to wrap around his own cock. His hand is dry, and he's so wrapped up in the feeling of Oliver colliding with his prostate, that his movements are jerky, but it's enough.

The familiar warmth pools in his stomach, and as he spills onto his own hand with a broken moan, he feels Oliver tighten his grip against his hips, before a loud groan sounds out from behind him as Oliver follows him over the edge.  

He doesn't ask Oliver to stay again. He knows better than that. Plus, the last time he did, his heart had shattered when he woke up alone, Oliver's side of the bed gone cold from the other man slipping out during the night. So he just wraps himself in the sheets, and lets Oliver leave without protest.

But he regrets it.

Oh, does he regret it.

Felicity calls him a few weeks later in tears, and Barry's heart clenches in his chest, because somehow he knows. He just  _knows_.

Oliver Queen is dead.

His blood runs cold, his heart plummets in his chest, and as phone falls from his shaking hand, he barely registers Felicity's voice sounding out from the receiver as it clatters to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
